Bone Deep

by Janice Kay Johnson

  After several hours, she decided she’d made enough notes about the hybrids to be able to come to decisions later on which ones to order. She liked to change out which bulbs she carried every year. Of course, the gardeners like Annika who put in hundreds of bulbs every fall would shop at RoozenGaarde or Tulip Town themselves. Kat catered to the ones who put in a couple of dozen, or decided to add bulbs to a planter, or to buy a handsomely packaged dozen for a Christmas gift.

  She arrived at the nursery to find it hopping. James was loading flats of perennials and flower baskets into the trunk of someone’s car. Joan was behind the register with three people in line. Helen seemed to be helping someone choose a rhododendron, while Melinda was deep in conversation with a couple of women looking at the hybrid maples.

  Kat plunged into work, persuading an eager new gardener to scale back the scope of her plans and dip her toe in the water first, so to speak.

  “Autumn is a great time to plant, too,” she said. “Why don’t you start with the one bed and find out how much work it is. Get it just right, then once the weather cools off in September you can start digging out the second one. You’ll want to be putting in bulbs then, too,” she added. “Plus, that’s a good time to look at the shrubs with great fall color and take a look at fall-blooming perennials. Too many gardens end up spectacular in the spring and dull the rest of the year.”

  The young woman nodded and said, “That’s probably good advice. I’m a little bit prone to going overboard when I get excited about something. It’s just, with a new house…”

  Kat smiled. “Believe me, I understand. The wonderful thing about gardening is that it’s a perfect, lifelong hobby. You can scale back when your life gets busy, expand when you have time. Start modestly, and who knows what your yard will look like five years from now?”

  She left the customer happily choosing perennials and went on to help someone else pick out a floribunda rose for Mom on Mother’s Day. Pete Timmons, one of Grant’s deputies, was hovering then, wanting her advice on which flowering basket he should choose for his wife’s birthday. Kat stayed so busy, she didn’t have time to worry, or let the panic swell until it left her breathless.

  She’d save that for when she got home.

  “GODDAMN IT, GRANT! USE your head, man.” Otto Crawford scowled at Grant from the other side of his desk. The senior member of the city council, both in longevity of service and in years, Otto was a broad-shouldered, once athletic man whose muscles had gone stringy with age. Over a brown-spotted pate, his white hair bristled; he’d never let it grow an eighth of an inch longer than it had been when he was a U.S. marine fifty years ago. The old coot was hard to get along with. He thought men weren’t men unless they’d served their country in uniform, which meant he tended to throw his support behind Grant rather than Mortensen, who’d never put on a uniform in his life.

  Otto’s faded blue eyes now sparkled with outrage. His politics had solidified during the Cold War. He frequently lectured bored audiences about waning modern morals.Otto liked to use physical intimidation. Right now, he was leaning forward over Grant’s desk, both hands planted on the surface. A couple of times, Grant had felt the cool spray of Otto’s spittle. Out of respect for the old guy, he’d refrained from showing his distaste.

  Abruptly losing patience, though, he interrupted. “Have you been satisfied with the job I’ve done for this city?”

  Otto’s glower didn’t diminish. “You know I have. Until your brain sank below your belt.”

  Grant’s hands flexed on his thighs. “Watch it, Otto. You might want to do your own thinking instead of buying into Mortensen’s story. You know he hopes to get rid of me.”

  “And I’m telling you, if your car’s parked in that woman’s driveway one more night, he may get his way.”

  “No matter why I’m there.”

  “People in this town don’t want to see their police chief shacked up with some woman. Especially a woman under suspicion of murdering her husband.”

  Grant pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. “This police department doesn’t consider Kathryn Riley a suspect.”

  “Can you prove she didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “The burden is on law enforcement and the courts to prove a suspect did do it. Not to prove someone’s innocence. You know that, Otto.”

  The old man snorted and straightened. “You mean, the answer is no.”

  What the hell did he think? Of course the answer was no. Everyone knew Kat alone had watched Hugh drive away. Hell, even if somebody had been with her that morning, she’d have had to have another person with her 24/7 for weeks thereafter to be able to claim an unshakable alibi.

  Cursing himself for even the briefest hesitation, Grant said expressionlessly, “I have a couple of viable suspects. Ms. Riley isn’t one of them.”

  “You’ve been warned,” Otto said. “I’m usually behind you. This time I’m not.”

  He walked out of the office.

  Shit, Grant thought. Things were moving faster than he’d expected. He’d counted on having another two weeks until the next scheduled council meeting. If Mortensen or someone else called for an emergency session, Grant could be in trouble.

  He would be to the point where he didn’t give a good goddamn about the job, except that he knew Kat wouldn’t want to pull up stakes and move. The nursery was too important to her. She didn’t just take pride in it, she was fiercely invested in every acre and plant and bag of potting mix. He wasn’t sure she would know how to separate herself from her business. He wasn’t about to make her choose between it and him. The possibility that her choice wouldn’t be him was unthinkable.

  He had every intention of marrying Kat. Sitting again, he leaned back and pondered. What if he asked her now? How would opponents like Otto Crawford react if Kat was Grant’s fiancée? Would it still be considered shacking up when his 4Runner was seen in her driveway?

  He didn’t know, but the rest of the day he was conscious of a restless sense of dissatisfaction. It bothered him not to be sure where he stood with Kat. He’d intended to put off confronting the issue, but, damn it, he wanted to have her pinned down. It was stupid, maybe, to feel insecure when she came so sweetly into his arms every night, but four years of waiting not-so-patiently for her had taken their toll.

  He suddenly wasn’t sure he could wait another day.

  GRANT’S MOOD SEEMED GRIM all through dinner. Kat would look up to catch him watching her oddly, as if he was searching even deeper below the surface than usual.

  She stood to clear the table, then let her plate clatter on the surface. She sat again. “All right. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Your mood stinks.”He raised his eyebrows and she flushed. Okay, so she’d been the one in a bad mood last night. He was entitled. Except, he wasn’t brooding or foul-tempered. It was more as if he had been biding his time before taking on an unpleasant task.

  “No,” he said. “I was wanting to talk to you, that’s all.”

  “We have been talking. All through dinner. I told you about the tulip fields and Pete Timmons’s present for his wife. You complained about the bridal shower for a dispatcher. That’s talking.”

  Even though Grant was really good at hiding what he was thinking, she could see that he was holding some kind of internal debate.

  Alarm jolted her. He’d learned something he didn’t want to tell her.

  “What is it?” She heard her voice rising.

  He made up his mind. The muscles in his jaw bunched, then relaxed, and he stood and held out a hand to her. “Come here.”

  Kat stared up at him and that outstretched hand. “Why?”

  He waggled his fingers.

  She was both tempted and worried. Was it so bad, whatever he had to tell her, that he wanted to offer comfort in advance? What could be that bad? Her eyebrows drew together. He couldn’t suspect Joan…

  “Damn it, Kat.” Patience evaporating, he grabbed her and lifted her from the chair. “What
do you think I’m going to do, apply thumbscrews?”

  “I don’t know.” She eyed his deep frown warily. “You’re the one making a mystery out of this.”

  He expelled air with what might have been a growl. “It’s lucky I didn’t go for candlelight and bended knee. You’d probably think I was planning to slit your throat.”

  She gaped at him. Her mouth moved a couple of times before she managed to say, “Candlelight?” Bended knee?

  His fingers tightened on her arms. His voice took on a rough timbre. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me, Kat.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “MARRY YOU?” KAT EXCLAIMED. “Are you crazy?”

  The minute the words were out, Kat wished she could pull them back. Grant’s face went blank, expression wiped clean as if it had never been. After a long pause, he said, “You know how I feel about you. We’re sleeping together. I wouldn’t call asking the question crazy.”“Grant.” She searched his face, feature by feature. Why did that nose, a little too big in context, those broad, blunt cheekbones, that permanently furrowed brow, make her heart drum every time she looked at him? Her ever-present panic fluttered again. What if he was fired and went away, so that she never saw him again? Would she survive?

  She swallowed, although her throat was dry. It had never once, in all her life, occurred to her that she needed one person so much she might not be able to get by without him. She wanted to say, “Yes.” She wanted to say it so much, she bit her lip to keep herself from opening her mouth at all. He was crazy. Getting engaged to her, in the middle of this mess? Political suicide. What was he thinking?

  Do I know how he feels about me?

  “Why are you asking right now?” she asked slowly. “Think about how few people would say ‘Wow! Isn’t that great! Our police chief is marrying Fern Bluff’s very own Black Widow.’”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” she challenged. “You know that’s what everyone thinks about me.”

  “You have more friends in town than you believe you do.”

  Did she? “Maybe,” she conceded. “Business hasn’t fallen off as much as I expected when all this started.”

  “There are plenty of people who’d congratulate us.”

  “And a few important ones who’d decide you didn’t have enough judgment to continue on as police chief.”

  A muscle in his cheek spasmed. “I don’t care, as long as I don’t get fired before I find this nut who’s threatening you.”

  “Would finding another job really be that easy if you left this one in disgrace?”

  She saw the answer on his face. The answer she already knew.

  “I’d find something.”

  “Grant, this is a silly thing for us even to be talking about right now.” She tried to sound…breezy. Probably came closer to wretched.

  His eyes bored into hers. “What about later?”

  She was afraid to tell him. Afraid he’d take it as a promise, afraid he’d commit even more obviously to her. Afraid he’d make a sacrifice for her that he shouldn’t make.

  Wasn’t this supposed to be the pinnacle of any woman’s dreams? That the man she loved was willing to sacrifice everything for her? So why did his offer make her feel as if she were locked in that shed again? Kat wondered.

  “I can’t give you an answer now,” she managed to say. “It wouldn’t be fair.” To you. But she didn’t say that part.

  His hands dropped from her arms. He took a step back and stared at her, his eyes very dark. “It’s not such a good sign, is it, when you can’t say a simple yes or no.”

  “Grant.” Her fingernails bit into her palms. “What if I did kill Hugh?”

  He didn’t move. Didn’t react in any way that she could see. Just looked hard at her. “That’s ridiculous,” he said finally.

  “No. It’s not. You’ve asked me before whether I did.” She had to do this. She had to. For him. “You don’t want to think I could have murdered Hugh. But you don’t know. Not for sure. Do you?”

  “Of course I know!” he snapped.

  “Do you?” She put her hands on her hips. “Search your heart. I think you’ll find a kernel of doubt in there. You’ve buried it deep, but it’s still aggravating you, isn’t it? Giving you a twinge every now and then. Because, whoa, what a mistake you’re making if I’m not who you want to think I am.”

  He swore. “Why are you doing this, Kat?”

  She was getting to him. She should be glad. Pushing him away was the idea. It was the right thing to do.

  “Because I think we need to be really, really honest.” Suddenly she was yelling. “I don’t want to marry a man who has those kinds of doubts. I deserve better than that!”

  “What in hell…?” Looking both furious and baffled, Grant took a step closer to her.

  Kat backed up, stumbled against her chair. She edged behind it and gripped the back with both hands. The singed feeling around her heart made her realize this wasn’t all pretense. She hated, hated, knowing he must still wonder about her for all his protestations to the contrary. She knew she was a complicated person, that she’d never bared herself completely to anyone, including Grant. But if he loved her, really loved her, shouldn’t he see her clearly?

  “Say it!” she all but shrieked at him. “Say it. I could have killed Hugh.” Very, very quietly, she said, “I could have.”

  “I’m not so sure the son of a bitch didn’t deserve to get knocked off.”

  Kat flinched. She couldn’t help it. So there it was. He was acknowledging that she had all the reason in the world to have murdered her philandering husband. After all, she’d come out of it smelling like roses, hadn’t she? No, she’d come out of it owning the roses she sold.

  “Wow.” Suddenly she had a lump in her throat. “I’m glad we got that in the open. You know, Grant, I think I’d like it if you left now. Somehow the idea of going to bed with you doesn’t really appeal to me tonight.”

  He looked dazed. Shell-shocked. His hands dangled at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you brought up the idea of marriage, and there was too much we hadn’t said.”

  He let out an incredulous huff of air. Bent his head. After a minute he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had to be a full minute before he lifted his head again and looked at her with bleak eyes. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “No.”

  He turned, just like that, and left the kitchen. Kat stood without moving. She heard him going upstairs. A few minutes later, he came down. When he reappeared in the doorway, he carried his packed duffel bag.

  “I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ve been so god-damned in love with you for four years, I’m sick with it. Think about that, Kat.”

  Then he left. The front door opened and shut behind him. She listened to the sound of the engine as he backed out of her driveway and left her alone.

  Which was exactly what she’d wanted.

  Except, it wasn’t at all.

  HE’D BEEN SO STUNNED, he had gone home last night. It wasn’t until hours later that he realized he should have parked where he could see her house, or even bedded down on her back porch. Because of his hurt feelings, he had left Kat unprotected.

  Grant drove by on his way to work and saw that her rental car was still there. His foot lifted from the gas and he stared at the house, wanting to see her passing in front of a window. A light go on or off. Something to tell him she was in there and okay. But there was nothing.He could just imagine the reception he’d get if he knocked on her door and said, “Just checking.”

  All right. He’d call the nursery when it opened. Make sure she’d gotten there safely.

  He did. A woman answered. Not Kat or Joan. Maybe the new one? When he asked for Kat, she said, “I think she’s back in one of the greenhouses. Can I help you?”

  Grant thanked her and lied, saying he’d stop by later.

  Midmorning, the c
lerk at the Shop ‘N Gas in town was held up at gunpoint. A local farmer, coming in to pay for his gas, saw what was happening and tried to tackle the robber. He got shot—not fatally, thank God for small favors—but bled all over the shiny linoleum floor. The clerk had hysterics and fainted. The strung-out idiot with the gun panicked and fled in his souped-up Mazda, slamming into a passing car. Radiator steaming, he tried to keep going, but didn’t make it three blocks. By that time, Grant himself was there to wrestle him out of the car and facedown on the ground.

  Grant studied the face of a boy who couldn’t be more than sixteen. Swearing as he applied handcuffs, Grant then helped himself to the kid’s wallet and walked back to his unit with the boy’s driver’s license in hand. Gosh, his estimate was off; the boy was no longer sixteen, he’d turned seventeen three weeks ago. He was a chronic runaway with an already lengthy rap sheet who’d left the last group home right before his birthday. Now he was hooked on meth, if Grant was any judge, and in serious trouble.

  The whole thing pretty well ate up Grant’s day. It reminded him why he’d settled more happily than he had expected into small town law enforcement versus the big city version. He didn’t miss a nonstop diet of random shootings, drug-addicted kids and stores that had to have barred windows and employ security guards.

  He did break free in time to watch Kat leave the nursery and make her way to the grocery store. He loitered on the street where he could just see one of the fenders of her car. Eventually, she pushed a laden cart out and, after putting her groceries in her trunk and restoring the cart to the front of the store, drove straight home. He parked a block away and saw her carry everything into her house.

  Now what?

  Neighbors were coming home. A girl rode her pink bicycle past. A fat tuxedo cat sauntered down the sidewalk. Down the block, a man cranked up his lawn mower.